


red hands, red hands

by taakos



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch Era, Blackwatch Reaper | Gabriel Reyes, Deadlock McCree, Dubious Ethics, Explicit Language, Gen, Mild Gore, Pre-Fall of Overwatch, blizzard: "characterization? i don't know her", general tw for jesse being a teen and also a murderer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 14:32:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11761905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taakos/pseuds/taakos
Summary: Deadlock was familiar, but that did not mean it was comfortable. Or safe. Or lessened the heavy burden of guilt on his slight shoulders.





	red hands, red hands

At seventeen, Jesse McCree was under no delusions about his own reality.

Sure, his morals were gray, at best; that didn't mean he bothered lying to himself, though. What they did wasn't right. What he did wasn't right. 

And, yet, that didn't stop him from dirtying his palms with strangers' blood. Why would it? There was no absolution; not for him.

After spending almost five years in Deadlock, it all became normal. Familiar, even. He had come to like life on the lam, as dangerous as it was.

Jesse knew his gun like the back of his hand, and trusted it more than himself. Trusted it more than the other gang members. God knows he wouldn't be alive otherwise.

As a seventeen-year-old sharpshooter, he was in a very particular position within Deadlock. He was the youngest member, and that didn't sit well with some people. See, he already had his own wanted posters with rather generous bounties.

When he wasn't on a job, Jesse spent a good portion of his time watching his own back. No matter where he went in the Route 66 warehouse, it felt like he was being glared at. And, if he nearly shot a few fellas because of that? Well, who could blame him?

Deadlock was familiar, but that did not mean it was comfortable. Or safe. Or lessened the heavy burden of guilt on his slight shoulders.

So, when Overwatch came in and busted most of their asses, Jesse was only a little bit pissed off. 

Deadlocks who hadn't hauled ass away from the warehouse were quickly outmanned and outgunned, himself included. He didn't go down without a fight, though. Brains were quickly splattered on the walls before he was tackled and cuffed.

After a few hours on a transport surrounded by snarly fellow gang members, Jesse was put in a holding cell. Or an interrogation room. Or a holding cell that functioned as an interrogation room. He couldn't tell; he hadn't slept or eaten in a while, and his ribs were bruised to all hell.

After what felt like forever, but was probably five to ten minutes, someone finally walked in. They had dark skin, some facial scars, and was decked out to the nines in black (including a beanie). They carried a large cup of what appeared to be water, as well as a tablet. Not to mention they were built like a brick shithouse.

They pulled set the cup on the metal table in front of Jesse, then pulled out the chair across from him. They tapped a finger on the tablet, disengaging the handcuffs.

"You might want to take a drink before we start, kid. You're probably dehydrated." They said smoothly.

It didn't sound like a suggestion, so the thirsty teenager threw caution to the wind, and downed the water in one go. He was raised with manners, so he covered his mouth when he burped.

The stranger's lips twitched minutely as if they were trying not to smile.

Jesse was pretty sure they were the one who was going to get him sent to federal prison. He didn't know how to feel about that. He just blinked instead.

"My name is Gabriel Reyes. We're going to be talking for a bit. You're Jesse McCree, are you not?"

Jesse shrugged, and then his brain short-circuited because he realized one of the heroes of the Omnic Crisis was sitting right in front of him.

Reyes hummed as he pulled something up on the tablet. "I've gotta say, kid, your list of charges is long as shit."

Jesse snorted inelegantly with just a hint of bitterness.

"So long, in fact, that I'm not even going to read them all out. Just know that there's a bunch and that you'll be prosecuted as an adult. The odds of you being found innocent are about as low as they can get. It's likely you'll die in a prison cell."

Any amusement he felt died once his brain fully processed that. Jesse had long been resigned to his fate after a couple years in Deadlock, but the fact that this was actually happening felt like a punch right in the gut.

Most of the time, he forgot he was just a kid. Forgot he shouldn't know how to headshot a moving target. Forgot he should be in school. Forgot he shouldn't be a killer. Forgot people weren't supposed to be living weapons. 

Jesse felt prickling behind his eyes and let out an acerbic huff of a laugh, wringing his hands together under the table.

"Jesse," Reyes started.

The teenager started a bit at the casual use of his first name. Not many people called him that anymore.

"Eyes up here, kid."

Feeling more ashamed with himself than usual, Jesse slowly lifted his gaze.

"I've seen the security footage of the sting. I've seen what you can do, and I think your skills could be put to better use. You deserve better.

"I know you've been dealt a real shitty hand in life. Such a shitty hand that you're never going to be able to live a 'normal' life. And, for whatever it's worth: I'm sorry. However, you don't have to spend the rest of your days rotting in a cell for what you've done."

Jesse gaped at Reyes, confused and absently wondering how bad the concussion he got from being tackled was.

"What I'm offering you here is a job, kid. Come work for me and you can atone for the blood you've spilt by making the world a better place. You'll get paid, be trained, have your own quarters, eat three tolerably edible meals a day. You can have a life worth living."

Reyes stopped talking and stared resolutely at the teenager, who blinked owlishly.

"You want me to come work for Overwatch?" Jesse asked, so incredulous his voice cracked.

The man in black nodded.

"Overwatch is for heroes. I put some of y'all six feet under. You don't want me."

At this, Reyes pursed his lips. "Overwatch is a whole ass organization, kid. Just because some branches are public knowledge doesn't mean all of them are."

Jesse raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"It's classified for a reason," Reyes snorted, looking very amused.

"Okay," Jesse drawled, squinting at him. "I don't suppose you can tell me what I'd be doing if I worked for you?"

A shake of the head and crossing of the arms.

He huffed. "Well, shit! Y'all got good healthcare?"

Reyes barked a laugh, and then nodded. "The best in the world."

Jesse dragged a hand through his dirty hair. 

Years of being in a gang had taught him to go with his instincts and deal with the consequences once they arose. Even if that meant getting shot, or worse.

He knew how to be put up façades. He knew how to shoot to kill. He knew how to wash blood out of his clothes. He knew guns better than other people. He knew how to ignore your feelings to get the job done. 

Jesse McCree didn't know how to be good. He supposed it wouldn't hurt to try, though. Couldn't be worse than dying in prison. Probably.

"Count me in, then, _Jefe_ ," he shot a sharp grin across the table.

Reyes smiled warmly, extending a hand toward Jesse. "Welcome to Blackwatch, Agent McCree."

They shook once.

"Athena, the door, please," Reyes stood and grabbed his tablet.

The door swung open silently.

"Let's go, kid. We got shit to do."

The man in black crossed the threshold, and the gunslinger followed.

**Author's Note:**

> title's taken from "red hands" by the builders and the butchers! this fic was (greatly) inspired by pmendicant's amazing art, more specifically this!!
> 
> quick q & a/complaints:
> 
> "is jesse okay?"
> 
> no
> 
> "would he really be called 'agent' so soon?"
> 
> he's joining blackwatch, an elite covert ops group, as a field agent. he's a special case and sure as shit not a recruit
> 
> "he's not very mccree-like"
> 
> bravado and persona are hard to keep up when you're a traumatized 17 y/o being told your life is basically over bc you're going to federal maximum security prison. also: he's probably in shock, so
> 
> "those are some bad ethics"
> 
> jesse's whole life is a catch-22


End file.
